Rogue Stars
by Donrocs1
Summary: Having no purpose in life is a torturous existence. With nothing more than death, murder and retribution beneath his belt, a Sangheili man steels himself from the very justice he enacts on the former members of his Hierarchy. Known only one title, amid a long forgotten name, he is Rogue, and if you are chosen to become the next kill marker on his gauntlets... Doom awaits.


Rogue Stars.

CHAPTER 1.

Thirty-First.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Something didn't feel quite right, it was a nagging sensation towards the back of his mind, that screamed a single word beneath his skull...

_Turn._

Something was behind him.

Despite the black clad he wore, apparently it wasn't enough to ward-off the eyes of his quarry, and this, combined with the very fact of his sloppiness, disturbed him greatly.

No thoughts of chastisement left his system however, he knew rightfully so, that every professional screwed up occasionally. With that in mind, he felt his own claw tracing up the length of his left thigh, the armor there not making a sound whilst jumpsuit glided over its surface.

His mouthpieces curved upwards, smiling.

Oh, how the fool would die...

His body was a blur of motion, legs spinning in a clockwise direction, and arm snatching hold of the handle magnetized to his hip.

A vine vanished in a spray of green plant-fluids, the entirety of its girth falling in a tangled heap to the ground below.

For a moment, as the Energy Sword in his clasp crackled, flicking or burning off the remains of his wannabe KILL, he gawked with a keen eye the burned root.

_Damn it._

It was natural for males of his race to become angry when they made a mistake, they stole away from calmness, at least, the youngest of them, and brashly enraged themselves with curses and vocals.

No such derogatory shouts or mumbles left his mandibles.

For, Rogue was not angry, he was simply fascinated.

He ogled the scorched greenery, coiled at his plated feet like a dying, and defeated snake, and smiled, again.

With a quickened movement, he removed himself from the patch of brush that harbored the creature he sought still, another word of mentality passing through his mind...

_Impressive._

His quarry had gotten to within a hairs-length of killing him before he'd even detected death incoming, and that, was surely a spectacle in and of itself.

Rogue rarely encountered such resistance in these day, a good challenge always seemed something akin to a faraway land of mystery.

His superstition always battled his cockiness, and in several instances, had nearly lost to the overwhelming urge to indulge in the self-delusion of righteousness. He was no master of emotional quelling, surely of a blade and ballistic, but never emotion.

That was possibly the one thing keeping Rogue from his ultimate goal of perfection, the ability to simply overestimate...

-And become careless.

His smile, now withered, contorted to a animalistic frown as he stepped over a patch of bushes, further deepening himself in the vast array of jungle around him.

He easily towered over half of the lesser and common plants here, though, not the trees.

Each was easily millions of years old, and by this phase in their seemingly endless lives, they had grown to the height of skyscrapers, the massive canopy over his head, all but obliterating any form of sunlight to the floor below.

It was this that made his prey's efforts so interesting.

Obviously, the foe was no fool, and would most likely not go down any more easily.

His black armor, curved and crested to resemble his past rank, was stained with dew and fluids of plants, smudged with dirt and scars from barbaric weaponry.

In terms of cycle, Rogue had been fighting for a week against the feeble pawns inevitable used to keep him at bay, whilst the real kill attempted escape.

The race he battled were unskilled in the ways of stealth, many had been dead before they realized what exactly had hit them, and many more were simply butchered amid uncivilized activities, and even daily processes such as sleep and eating.

Rogue had slaughtered his way up a ladder there was no climbing down from, and he felt, he had reached the last rung with a major leap into the mouth of hell.

And that mouth revolved around this patch of jungle.

The sword he held was deactivated, and clasped tightly by his hip, a Plasma Rifle clutched in the opposite claw.

He knelt low, and processed every perception he could muster. Anything to aid him in finding the subjects of his justice.

His eyes snapped shut, and his head bowed, arms relaxing under a deep, and near meditative trance.

The forest zoned, and all but vanished inside of a filing system within his mind, the varying folders and spheres becoming organized into a series of figurative branches.

A chart was created.

Birds, native wildlife.

None of the animals in the vicinity knew he, or his quarry was in the area, so that was out,

Wind and breeze.

The air whistled off of too much, from branches and vines, to the many thousands of clumps of floor-based-plants. This wouldn't help him decipher the enemy positions.

Finally, artificial disruption.

He detected no twigs snapping, no leaves being crunched, no plants pushed-

Wait.

He smiled ironically.

Again as before, his body was a blur of motion, legs rising and pivoting to turn him perfectly, Energy Sword following in suit, and thrusting forwards in a deadly impale.

He chuckled in satisfaction at the sound of lightly flaring energy shields, as if some liquid was drizzling off of the protection covering his armor.

That liquid was blood.

He stared into the twin eye-pieces that made the brutish, pug helmet of the one he had stabbed in the stomach, a furred, apish, and muscular body twitching as the Sword flickered, sending emits of blood hitting the ground around it.

"No move now, Jiralhanae."

Rogue planted his foot on the Jiralhane Stalker's waist, and slowly slid him off of the Sword's girth, sending the dead alien tumbling to the ground in a heap.

The reaction, expected, was instantaneous.

Bellows off anger, fury and rage sounded in all directions, the deceased's packmates suffering from primal behaviors.

Rogue stood to his full height, watching impassively as another Stalker ran at him, a Spike Rifle blaring in its grasp.

He sidestepped, shards flanking off of his shields, and the end volley being dodged when the Jiralhanae made contact. The Stalker's head flew from his shoulders in a vicious swipe from the Sword.

The body fell, and Rogue backhanded his claw, into seemingly thin air.

Another Stalker materialized where his wrist impacted its jaw, breaking it, and knocking the helmet off of its head in a crack.

That one died to a blast in the neck from the Plasma Rifle held in Rogue's other palm.

The pathetic attempt went on for another five minutes, and by the time the Jiralhanae were dead, ten of the stealth-class warriors lye slain at the Zealot's feet, leaving him craving for yet another challenge.

It was unfortunate for him, that no such further resistance made itself known at the moment.

Breath left him in huffs, his panting from the strenuous fight, it never lasted long, and it grew shorter, his period of rest, every battle he partook in.

Rogue was what he was...

ROGUE.

He had no affiliation, no loyalty or faction, and he planned on remaining as such until a time came for that to change too.

And quite, MANY things had changed.

He was once a proud man of the Sangheili, maybe, he had had honor and respect, fame and chances for wealth and a good life...

That was obliterated by the very creatures he hunted.

In his own visage of the stars, the Jiralhanae were NOTHING, and needed to be wiped out, which, he had been doing for the past decade. A lost soul with no clear aim, other than to kill and seek revenge for wrongs never really committed onto him personally.

Yet, he refused to obey the rules of fairness, and so, he waged a guerilla war on them. A never ending, sometimes hopeless battle that would inevitable consume his life.

The black Covenant Zealot armor covering his body shifted once more, and he stalked with a sneer on his chops away from the corpses.

The jungle watched without comment, and gradually, these bodies would be recycled into nature. That was one thing Rogue admired of woodland, it kept quiet, and removed evidence...

No prejudice, like the rest of the beings in the stars...

Including him.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Ruins were something of a rarity, especially in the modern times of the galaxy, most had been unearthed, annexed or possibly removed by either the Alliance or Neo Covenant.

Them being so scarce, Rogue couldn't just hold his curiosity to this singular structure.

It easily could be identified as Forerunner, it held the proper architecture, top angular shape, and was supported by synthetic and glass buttresses at its flanks.

Though, what was strange of the whole thing, was its inability to perform whatever function the ancients had left it here for.

The tower was dark, no systems, not even the usual circuitry of the walls or lining exposed mechanisms, were working, and as Rogue stepped through the brush of the surrounding jungle, he tilted his head in speculation.

A single flight of platforms, stair-like raisings of metal, made their way to a ajar archway at the tower's midsection, the point of connection to the twin angular pieces at its epitome of height, and the base.

It was quite awkward, yet needed, that the only thing he found odd of the situation...

Was the absence of sentries.

Either Forerunner, or Jiralhanae.

He let his mandibles curl in a sneer, and quietly stepped upwards onto the first plat. His plated feet made no sound whilst he leapt from step to step, and stood before the archway.

Angular, and once holding a door of some kind, the entry was ragged with distress. He closed his eyes and sighed.

Someone had broken into this site.

And his bets were on the damned Jiralhanae.

His target was not only living, and that was enough offense to have him killed... His treacheries against innocents and Rogue's people in general giving such authority, but he was also a defiler.

Taking a closer look around him, Rogue noted the several stacked Covenant-type crates and supply holders, ammunition for several projectile weapons was strewn about, and the remnants of herd animals was in bloody heaps towards a small corner not too far from where he stood.

_Disgusting._

He stepped inside, and was blessed with blackness.

Nothing could be seen inside the tower, and he knew, if he activated his Sword or armor lights for illumination, his target would be alerted sooner than he wanted.

He reached up with a cautious hand, and clicked a small node on the side of his helm.

The cavern within was awash in his vision, green tinted from the nightvision.

He looked about, and saw several more crates blocking much of the walls in this lobby, a dormant, damaged Ghost, a speeder vehicle of the old Covenant, sat immobile in the left center of the room.

It was surrounded by spare parts and repair tools, and was adjacent to a sleeping area, matted with animal furs and piles of textiles.

He smelled excrement in the air.

Truly were the beasts vile things when they reverted to their olden ways on Dosiac.

Rogue bent low, and hurried across the lobby, pressing himself to the Ghost's dented and scorched hull. So far no contact had been made with his target, or anymore of its lackeys.

Another destroyed arch led deeper into the tower, a basement level.

Just barely, though, no doubt was it distinguishable, a sliver of bluish light embalmed itself in a white overcast from the ways beyond this arch. It peaked Rogue's mind even more. This hunt was turning quite interesting.

He rushed stealthily through the arch, slinking through a room lined with small buttresses and pillars, a near maze of protrusions that supported both the glass-like walls and blackened ceiling.

The light emanated from the iridescent powercores, tiny plasma-charged lamps, that lined the interior of the chamber.

Perhaps, the ancients had used this tower as a supply outpost, after all, Rogue knew little to nothing of this uncharted world in the middle of nowhere.

There was most likely a complex net of ruins and artifacts that gridded the jungles here.

Though, more mentality around it not revolving around him spiraled within his head, than decisions to explore and discover.

His eyes shut, and with the awesome powers of perception he could muster, he determined no other beings beside his kill were here.

He noted this, because his prey was HIDING.

_Coward... Receive your retribution with honor..._

He perceived himself a bigger being, and no fool, when he stepped into the small clearing in the square room, and activated the hilt of his sword in small whoosh of energy.

The aqua-light of his blade added to the mixture of colors, and he called out, beckoning the Jiralhanae he sought.

"Chieftain!" He bellowed, a dominant, deep voice reverberating about the internals of the tower.

"-Your kin lye dead. Reveal yourself from shadow..."

Nothing.

No response, no curses of heaps of hate thrown at him from apish tongue.

Silence.

Rogue tapped his foot.

"Your pack," He stated with a chuckle. "-Their very noisy when they die. Do you know that?"

No sooner had those words of venom left his mandibles, did a swinging sound omit behind him.

He rolled, swinging his body away from a massive head of pure steel and synthetic, the Hammer missing his torso by mere centimeters.

It chopped through thin air, and Rogue landed in a hunched position, staring with a thin grin at the towering Jiralhanae before him.

The Chieftain was arguably the biggest of his kind he had seen in a long time, standing exactly the same height as a full-grown male Sangheili, and bolstering ridiculously large muscles and tones with plates of Stalker armor and royal plating of gold.

He lowered the head of his Gravity Hammer, and bore gnarled and stinking fangs.

"Kalculyes..." Rogue greeted. "-You look terrible."

The Chieftain smacked a thumb on the translator by his chin.

"-Stand still, renegade. My pack will feast on your flesh beside me in spirit."

The Zealot stifled a larger laugh amid his snicker, earning a befouled snarl from Kalculyes. With little mistake to the quarry's skill, Rogue was the first to enact the circling.

Both ex-commanders of the Covenant military prowled in a complete sphere, sizing the other up, Kalculyes hefting the massive Gravity Hammer, and Rogue his sword and Plasma Rifle.

The Sangheili had no doubt of who would initiate, and his assumption proved not only his correct hunch, but the sheer impatience of Jiralhanae.

The Chieftain leaped, higher than any human or even Sangheili could, and raised the Hammer above himself with a deathly scream.

Rogue threw himself, just slightly above the ground, and away from Kalculyes reacting side-slam.

He dodged the blow barely, and the impact of the head hitting the steel floor, both formed a hideous dent in the metal, but also created a blue colored shockwave that sent him careening.

Perfect. Just what he wanted.

He flipped in his sailing, touching his heels flatly to the wall that, if he hadn't stunted, would have broken his neck. A second later, and he used the strength in his legs to send himself towards the Jiralhanae.

He barreled into him, sending the two monstrous aliens tumbling about the ground, Rogue's sword lashing about the Chieftain's arms.

Cuts and lacerations scarred the Jiralhanae's flesh there, ripped plates of armor from him, and bore a gash across his left breast.

Kalculyes endured it all, rearing his head forwards, and roaring a blasting vocal defiantly into the Zealot's face.

The butt of the Hammer clashed into Rogue's helm, near shattering his energy shields, and knocking him off the Chieftain like a swatted insect.

The ground was met, and he rolled sideways from the Hammer's descending mass.

Kalculyes had given the Sangheili no time to recover, and the Gravity weapon's head formed a crater where Rogue had vacated.

The sword fell upon Kalculyes once more, gashing across his thigh and rear.

The Chieftain could discern when life was leaving him, and decided, if he were to be killed, he would take his murderer with him.

Another slash from the Energy blade removed Kalculyes' hand from his left arm in a cloud of reddish purple blood, and he cried out, not from the pain, but of the indignant notion of such defilement.

With a quick motion, he went against every notion, belief and tradition of his people.

The same weapon he had killed his father for, whom had killed HIS uncle for...

Kalculyes tossed the Gravity Hammer with his one hand like a throwing knife, and clipped Rogue as his rolled to evade.

The blade of the Hammer hitting his ankle sent the Zealot spinning out of control, and slammed his body into a nearby buttress.

With a defeated look, Rogue slumped over, the Energy Sword he held flying into a nearby corner of the chamber.

Kalculyes grasped his stump of a wrist for a second, and stomped over to the stunned Sangheili, his back hunched from pain. Likewise, he left a trail of blood as he walked.

"-You'll burn with me, heretic!" He growled.

Rogue didn't have to look up from his stare at the floor to hear the twin electronic bleeps, and the sizzling of burning plasma.

Kalculyes grasped the twin live Plasma Grenades in his palm, and smiled down at the Sangheili.

"You failed to realize one thing... Chieftain..." Rogue laughed, of all things, from his position below.

"Oh? Refresh me, hereti-"

Kalculyes' speech was drowned amid the bubble of blood that burst from his mouth, and he glared with a keen, and saddened eye at the Energy Sword hilt that pressed to his stomach, the blade unseen, and buried through his body.

"Kalculyes. Jiralhanae Chieftain." Rogue stood, holding the sword in its exact impale while doing so.

"Let Creation have Mercy on Your Soul."

A black plated foot planted into Kalculyes' breast, and flung him off the blade and across the chamber.

Rogue turned, and failed to even flinch from the blue explosion that ruptured behind him, nor from the spray of purple-red that coated the wall nearby.

Stomping back to the archway, he picked up the original Sword he had been armed with, and stowed the extra.

With a timid, yet relaxed motion, he took the blade's tip, and used it to scratch a thin line down the left gauntlet of his armor.

There, the sliver of silver sat beside thirty other markers, and Rogue left the tower of his thirty-first hunt. Never to return.

-0-0-0-0-0-


End file.
